


Fngs fr th Mmrs

by chaosmanor



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Bloodplay, Community: bandombigbang, Low level violence, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-17
Updated: 2010-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosmanor/pseuds/chaosmanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Patrick is a vampire, with a raging caffeine addiction, photophobia, and a poor grasp of the basics of vampirism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fngs fr th Mmrs

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/butidigress/profile)[](http://www.livejournal.com/users/butidigress/)**butidigress**.
> 
> Disclaimer: Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.

  
  
  
**Current mood:** |    
happy  
---|---  
  
Title: "Fngs fr th Mmrs"  
Bands: FOB  
Pairing: Andy/Patrick  
Word count: 11 500  
Rating: NC-17  
Warnings: low level violence  
Kinks: bloodplay  
Summary: In which Patrick is a vampire, with a raging caffeine addiction, photophobia, and a poor grasp of the basics of vampirism.  
Notes: Thanks to [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/butidigress/profile)[**butidigress**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/butidigress/).

Awesome mixes, made by [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/cunnningplan/profile)[**cunnningplan**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/cunnningplan/) and [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/_slashygoodness/profile)[**_slashygoodness**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/_slashygoodness/) can be found [here](http://chaosmanor.dreamwidth.org/414976.html) and [here](http://chaosmanor.dreamwidth.org/415304.html).

Andy let himself into the motel room, more than a little surprised the light was on and the shower running. When Andy had left the gig, Joe was well on his way to wasted with some people he knew, Pete already had his hand up a scene girl's T-shirt, and Patrick had announced that he was going to get laid as well, and no one was to wait up for him. That was fine; Andy's friends in Hoboken had been at the show, so they'd all gone out for a meal, as soon as the van and trailer were packed.

"Hey!" Andy called out, closing the motel room door. "I'm back."

Andy sat down on the only bed, claiming one side of it, kicked his shoes off, and dug his toothbrush out of his duffel bag. There were advantages to being the first or second person back to the room, when the room only had one bed. He just hoped it wasn't Pete in the shower, because he hated sharing a bed with Pete, who either tossed and turned all night, wide awake, or who clung on while asleep, plagued by nightmares.

The shower kept running for long enough that Andy got bored with waiting and took his water bottle and toothbrush outside. He brushed his teeth in the parking lot, and pissed out there as well.

He'd stripped off, down to boxers, and dug out a book, when the shower finally shut off.

The bathroom door opened a crack, and Andy looked up from his book.

"Hi," Andy said, to Patrick who peered through the gap between the door and the frame, dripping wet and wearing no glasses. "You okay?"

"Um," Patrick said, sounding tentative.

Patrick didn't sound tentative. He sounded scared.

Andy ditched his book and stumbled across the room, tripping over duffel bags and back packs, to the bathroom door.

"What's happened?" Andy asked, pushing the door open, out of Patrick's hand, so he could see all of Patrick, apart from the bit covered by the towel. "What's wrong?"

"That guy, the one I was with," Patrick said. "I think he did something to me, to hurt me."

"Fuck," Andy said. "Ah. Okay. I know you've had a shower, but I still need to take you to the hospital. They'll know the right police department to call. Come on, get dressed."

Patrick laughed, flat and empty. "Oh, I wanted him to do that. He bit me, while he was fucking me. He bit me hard. I don't actually think that making me yell so much that someone kicks open the door is an offense, except against good manners."

Andy let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Okay, I'll stop panicking. Where did he bite you?"

Patrick turned sideways and lifted his wet hair from his neck, and Andy moved him further back, into the bathroom where the light was stronger.

"There," Patrick said, touching the skin of his neck, above the tan line from his T-shirt, where his skin was reddened by the shower, and where Andy could see a bruise spreading out, under the faint freckles.

"Yeah," Andy said, and Patrick turned toward the light, and the indentations of the guy's teeth were visible, two rows of tears. "That's not a hickey, for sure."

"He was an asshole," Patrick said, wobbling against Andy, so that Andy had to grab him and steady him. "Sorry..."

"Lie down," Andy said. "And I'll find the first aid kit."

Patrick sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on the boxers that Andy took out of the nearest duffel, then crawled under the covers.

The first aid kit was in the band bag, the one that held the emergency credit card, Pete's refill prescriptions, Patrick's spare glasses, and everyone's next of kin details. The Bag of Doom, Joe had called it, until Pete split his forehead open stage-diving and needed taping up, then it had just become exceedingly useful.

Andy switched on the reading light beside the bed and swung it around, so it shone on Patrick, then crouched down beside the bed.

"Show me the bite again," Andy said gently, pulling the covers down off Patrick's shoulder.

Patrick's skin was cool to touch, now he'd dried off from the shower, and he looked paler than ever against the clean motel sheets. He lay still while Andy spread antiseptic cream over the bite, not complaining even when it must have hurt.

"How do you feel?" Andy asked, putting the cream away and zipping the first aid kit up.

"Cold," Patrick said. "Hungry." He paused, looking confused. "Or thirsty. Weird inside."

"Hungover," Andy said decisively. "I'll get water, then turn the lights off."

Patrick drank the glass of water Andy handed him, then Andy switched the lights off and climbed under the covers on the other side of the bed.

*

Andy woke, blinking in the light, when someone switched on the main light in the room.

"Oops," Pete said, switching the light off, then a moment later the bathroom light flicked on.

Andy pulled the covers up higher around Patrick, who was wrapped around him, and who felt cold against Andy's skin.

"You okay?" Andy whispered to Patrick.

Patrick murmured, possibly in his sleep, and rolled a leg over Andy's thighs.

Andy pushed Patrick's knee lower, off his crotch, and eased himself away from Patrick, as much as Patrick's tenacious grip would let him.

"Next time, you share with Pete," Andy muttered to himself.

The shower stopped, and Pete brushed his teeth noisily, spitting and gargling. Then the bathroom light switched off, and Pete unzipped his sleeping bag in the dark, fumbling and swearing.

Silence settled over the room, and Andy listened to Pete's breathing slow, until it almost matched Patrick's.

Andy, however, was wide awake.

The traffic on the highway outside the motel was a muted hum, and somewhere in the building, a shower was running, and people were talking. The clock beside the bed glowed faintly, but Andy didn't want to check the time. It was better not to know.

Patrick shifted against him, grinding against Andy's hip and mouthing at Andy's shoulder. Andy lifted a hand to shake Patrick awake, before Patrick got any further into dreaming, and Patrick lifted his head suddenly.

Patrick's eyes glittered in the light from the clock, far too bright, until he blinked slowly. He mouthed, "Please?" at Andy, then leaned forward, before Andy could protest, and pressed his mouth against Andy's.

Patrick kissed hungrily, urgently, then he was gone, pushing himself down the bed, dragging his mouth down Andy's chest and across Andy's belly.

Andy should stop him… do something…

Sweet fuck, but this was getting out of control.

Andy grabbed Patrick's shoulder and wrenched, just as Patrick pulled Andy's cock free from his boxers.

"Are you crazy?" Andy hissed, as quietly as he could, because waking Pete at that moment was only going to compound the ways in which this was wrong.

"I need this," Patrick whispered, and he sounded like he was about to cry, or something. "I just have to…"

Andy nodded, and Patrick slid his mouth down Andy's cock, all lips and tongue.

It wasn't easy being quiet, not with what Patrick was doing, and every sound was magnified in the shadows. The sheets crackled, the mattress creaked, and Patrick's lips were loud against Andy's skin, sucking and pulling. Andy tried to keep his breathing calm and shallow, but it was fucking difficult when he wanted to groan and shout.

Patrick hummed, deep in his throat, and Andy thought about fucking dying, just from the unbelievable intensity of it all.

Something—the disconcerting feeling that they were being watched—made Andy open his eyes and lift his head from the pillow.

Pete was propped on one elbow, half out of the sleeping bag, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, staring at the shape of Patrick's shoulders as he bobbed over Andy in the light from the clock.

Pete looked up, at Andy's face, stunned surprise on his face, and Andy understood, because it was all pretty fucking surprising, really.

Andy flapped a hand at Pete, and Pete lay back down again, huge dirty grin on his face.

Staying quiet didn't matter so much, but Andy still kept his voice to a whisper when he tapped Patrick's shoulder and said, "Close. C'mon."

Patrick pushed his hand away and moved further down the bed, out of Andy's reach, and just kept going. Okay, Andy had done his bit and been polite, now it was too late, and he was coming, pushing up into Patrick's mouth, long and sweet.

When Patrick crawled up the bed, into Andy's arms, he felt warm for the first time that night. Andy pushed Patrick's boxers down, and slithered down the bed.

Patrick grabbed handfuls of Andy's hair, as crazy and desperate as everything else that night had been, his body almost thrumming with tension, and he let out a loud moan at the first touch of Andy's mouth. Patrick rocked, hard and fast, and Andy stopped trying to control anything, and let Patrick fuck his mouth.

Patrick groaned, holding Andy's head tightly while he shook, then he fell back onto the sheets, his cock slipping from Andy's mouth.

Okay, it had happened to Andy too—coming without ejaculating—so Andy collapsed up the bed, beside Patrick, and pulled the bedding up without saying anything.

Patrick was already half-asleep, rolling into Andy's arms.

"Fuck," Pete whispered, and Andy thought about getting out of bed and kicking Pete, or something, but that was too much like hard work.

*

Patrick was a total ass, and refused to wake up, despite Pete and Andy packing up the motel room, and Joe turning up with the van and coffees.

"What's wrong with Patrick?" Joe asked, rummaging through his backpack and pulling out a T-shirt to change into.

"Ask Andy," Pete said. "If you'd been here last night, you wouldn't need an explanation."

"Too fucked to drive," Joe said, through his clean T-shirt.

Pete chuckled dirtily, and Andy elbowed him, on the way past him to the bathroom.

Once he'd brushed his teeth and pulled on clothes, Andy sat on the bed and dragged the covers off Patrick.

"C'mon, wake up," he said, and Patrick rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, mumbling.

"Up," Andy said, pulling Patrick up, into a sitting position, making Patrick flail his arms around wildly. "Get dressed, drink coffee, get in van."

Patrick stumbled off the bed and began pulling on clothes, layering a long-sleeved T-shirt over an ordinary T-shirt, then pulling on a plaid shirt, then a sweater and a hoodie. He grabbed a coffee off the counter, where Joe had left them, and downed it in two long gulps, before barricading himself in the bathroom.

Pete picked up one of the other coffees and sipped it cautiously, then said, "Well, this one is scalding hot."

Patrick reappeared a couple of minutes later, shoved socks and shoes on his feet, picked up his duffel and blundered out of the door, then halted.

"Fuck," Patrick said in the doorway, putting his hand over his face. "Who made it so stupidly bright out here?"

Pete shared a glance with Andy, then followed Patrick out the door, holding out a pair of sunglasses.

When Pete came back into the room, he took one of the coffees and held it to his forehead.

"The little shit is cold, thirsty, hungry and unhappy about the brightness of the day, despite the cloud cover. Andy? Do you have anything you'd like to say that might explain his atrocious mood?"

Andy shoved his toothbrush back in his bag and zipped the bag closed.

"Something went wrong for him last night, after the gig. I wasn't there, so I didn't see anything," Andy said. "Do either of you know the guy he went off with?"

Pete raised both eyebrows at Andy.

"He left with some scene dude," Joe said. "They were all over each other. You know what he's been like, this tour? Every few gigs he decides he wants to get off, so he hooks up. This was one of those times."

Pete's eyebrows hadn't lowered.

"So, he had a bad time with this guy?" Pete asked, his voice icy. "And you decided to help him out?"

"What?" Joe asked.

The motel room door opened again, and Patrick barged in, sunglasses balanced over the top of his ordinary glasses, and took the coffee out of Pete's hands.

"Thanks," Patrick said.

Patrick turned to look at Andy, and even through two layers of glasses, Andy would have sworn that Patrick's eyes were far too bright and sharp, going right through him.

"Andy's riding in the back with me," Patrick announced, in the kind of voice that no one, except his mother, would argue with.

Patrick pushed his way out of the room, scooping up the last coffee off the counter on the way, and Andy heard him say, "Oh, for fuck's sake, who ordered all this sunshine? I'm going to get fucking sunburned in New Jersey in March."

"He's taken all three coffees," Joe said, sounding aggrieved.

"Do you still think I took advantage of him?" Andy asked Pete.

"Only in the way that Gaul took advantage of Attila the Hun," Pete said. "By not have adequate defenses."

In the back of the van, Patrick was curled up on the bench seat, and Andy slid across the seat next to him.

"Hey," Andy said quietly, while Joe and Pete argued over a map, directions, and the amount of gas left in the van's tank. "How do you feel now?"

Patrick rolled himself around, so he was propped against Andy. "My head hurts, and I feel weird still."

"You drank Joe and Pete's coffees," Andy said. "That would be a caffeine headache you've got."

Patrick looked sideways at Andy, from behind his layers of glasses.

"And I can't stop thinking about what we did," Patrick said, his voice low. "Over and over…" He rubbed at the edge of his front teeth with the tip of his tongue.

"Fuck," Andy whispered.

They had a major glasses collision, tangling frames, but Patrick didn't loosen his steel grip on Andy's shoulder, and Andy wasn't going to pull away either. Patrick tasted of all three of the coffees, his mouth sliding against Andy's, and now what had happened was stuck in Andy's brain too, white hot.

When they stopped to disentangle their glasses, and Andy had shoved his glasses back on and turned to face the front of the van again, Pete and Joe were no longer arguing over a map.

"I get it now," Joe said, his head jammed beside Pete's in the gap between the two front seats. "Andy does make a convincing Gaul."

"Huh?" Patrick asked. "Should Joe be driving, Pete? Can you smell his breath, check he's okay?"

"Believe me, I'm already close enough to smell Joe's breath," Pete said. "I'm personally surprised he knows enough history to identify Gaul in the form of our drummer, but I think that's probably proof he's not fried and is safe to drive."

"What?!" Patrick demanded. "Why are you three having a conversation about France and Germany in the time of the Romans? How does that apply to Andy? Why are you both staring at me?"

"I'm staring too," Andy said. "My personal sense of justice requires me to admit that."

The side of Patrick's mouth twitched as he elbowed Andy, then Patrick started to laugh.

The tension dropped out of Pete's shoulders, and Joe laughed too, then they both turned back to the map.

"Which way to Mordor?" Joe asked. "Right or left?"

Andy threw an empty soda can at the back of Joe's seat.

Two miles into Joe and Pete's recurring argument about the ideal metal band ("Ian Scott!" "Jon Bon Jovi!" "Ronnie Wood!" "Meatloaf!") Andy tipped his head back, against the back of the bench seat, and groaned.

"Why?" Andy asked, turning to look at Patrick. "Why did I let Pete talk me into this tour?"

Patrick wasn't listening, to either Andy complain or to Pete and Joe flex their metal credentials. He was staring at Andy's neck, something like hunger on his face.

"Patrick?" Andy asked.

Patrick touched Andy's skin with cool fingertips, just above the frayed neck of his T-shirt.

"Can we…?" Patrick asked. "Right now…?"

"Not without Bill and Ted interrupting their excellent adventure to kill us," Andy said, pointing at Joe and Pete, who had moved on to playing 'I Spy' using obscene hand gestures, which actually seemed to be improving Joe's driving skills.

"I have to," Patrick said, and damn, but if the band could force him to sound like that on stage, then Pete's predictions of outrageous fame and fortune were going to come true within the next week.

"Merch boxes," Andy said.

Patrick was over the back of the seat, and climbing across the boxes, almost before Andy had finished suggesting it, so Andy shrugged mentally and followed him.

Patrick shoved sleeping bags and duffels aside, and Andy lifted a box of random shit out of the way, and suddenly they had room, between the cartons of hoodies and the back door of the van. Patrick was all over Andy, pushing him back so he was sitting against the cartons, pulling Andy's T-shirt up and his jeans down, licking at the skin of his belly…

"Fuck it," Andy said, because, really, if Patrick wanted to blow him again, Andy was not going to even try and persuade Patrick otherwise.

Patrick made a deeply happy noise, usually only associated with pizza, and Andy closed his eyes and surrendered.

Fuck, after having to be quiet the night before, it was fucking bliss to be able to moan, knowing the van engine and road noise combined would cover anything except screaming. Though, if Patrick kept going, slippery and urgent, there might be screaming at the end anyway.

Patrick's fingers were everywhere, and Andy grabbed onto the edge of the carton beside him and braced his other hand against the back window of the van, because Patrick was doing seriously fucking hot things, pushing him right toward coming.

The van changed gears, then braked, and the sound of Joe and Pete laughing was suddenly loud when the engine was switched off.

"Shit," Andy said, as the cab doors slammed.

Patrick glanced up at him, and fuck, he was right, they should probably be panicking...

The sliding side door of the van didn't open, and someone banged on the back window of the van, but didn't open the rear door. Pete and Joe's voices trailed off and were replaced by traffic sounds, and Patrick shrugged and bent his head down again.

Andy owed Joe and Pete, he really did. He'd tell them how grateful he was, after he'd come, and then gotten Patrick off.

Maybe he should have been quieter, but fuck, with what Patrick was doing, it was a miracle he didn't kick the merch carton to bits...

Patrick knelt up, straddling Andy, and pulled his belt undone and unzipped his jeans.

"Quick, fuck," Patrick said, and he groaned when both of them got hands wrapped around his cock.

"Want to get you alone somewhere," Andy said, watching Patrick's face flush, the faster they stroked. "Somewhere private. Get you naked. Touch you."

"And maybe fuck?" Patrick asked, and even if Joe and Pete opened the van door right at that moment, Andy wasn't stopping, not with the way Patrick was looking at him…

"However you want to," Andy said, and Patrick groaned loudly, grabbed the head of his cock and jerked his hips forward.

Andy hung onto Patrick while he came, so he didn't fall off the cartons they were balanced on, until Patrick was steady enough to rest back on Andy's knees, still breathing hard.

Andy said, "You okay?"

Patrick unwrapped the hand that was clamped around the head of his cock, peered at it through his glasses, looking perplexed, then held his palm out for Andy to see.

"Um, that's weird," Patrick said. "I would have sworn I came, but I didn't."

Andy did his own jeans back up, just in case Pete and Joe decided to join them, and shrugged. "It's only happened to me when I'm getting laid lots. I've never had it twice in a row though."

"Last night was the same?" Patrick asked, doing his jeans back up, and Andy nodded.

"Fucking weird," Patrick said. "What do you think the chances are that Joe and Pete will let me grab a coffee?"

"Nonexistent," Andy said, following Patrick over the cartons, and onto the bench seat.

"Hang on," Patrick said, when Andy reached for the van door, to slide it open.

"What?" Andy asked, looking back over his shoulder at Patrick, who was zipping up his hoodie.

"Can we do that again?"

Andy grinned. "Yeah. I thought we'd agreed on that."

Patrick's gaze went right through Andy, and Andy began to suspect that he knew exactly what a burrito felt like when it met Joe for the first time.

"Now?" Andy asked. "Right now?"

Patrick nodded.

"Ah, I'm going to grab something to eat," Andy said.

Andy opened the van door and climbed out. Joe had parked the van in the parking lot of a mall, and Joe and Pete were sitting on the trunk of a random car, drinking coffee and eating donuts.

"Woo!" Joe shouted, waving a donut at Andy.

"Finished?" Pete asked.

"I'm getting food," Andy said, and he left them sitting on some stranger's car and headed into the mall, in search of something he could eat, because had the horrible feeling he was going to need to keep his strength up if he was going to cope with Patrick.

Patrick caught up with Andy at the health food store, as he was buying a box of granola to snack on.

"Are we having one of those awkward post-fuck things?" Patrick said, when Andy had paid for his bag of rolled oats and dried fruit.

"I don't think we're allowed to. We live in the same tin can of a van," Andy said.

"Was I being unreasonable?" Patrick asked.

Andy stopped in the middle of the mall, box of granola in his hands, kids and parents swirling around him, and Patrick stopped too.

"Demanding," Andy said. "If we ever, ever, get a motel room to ourselves, then I will be glad to spend hours doing anything I can to make you happy. But, the back of the van, with the Sex Police on patrol, is not going to make it easy for me to go back for seconds."

"I don't usually..." Patrick said, trailing off. "Um, I'm not demanding, not like that. But, I just..."

Andy squinted, looking at Patrick's face closely, his blush extending right back into his hairline where his borrowed sunglasses were balanced, then looked down at the back of his hand, where the skin was pink as well.

"Are you sunburned?" Andy asked, shifting the granola to the crook of one elbow and picking up Patrick's hand with his free hand. "You are. How did you manage that?"

"Don't know," Patrick said. "I need to grab a coffee, before we head back."

Walking back across the parking lot, as Patrick gulped his coffee, Andy asked, "This, um, sudden enthusiasm you've discovered? How specific is it?"

"Huh?" Patrick asked.

Andy tore the top of box of granola open and scooped a handful into his mouth.

"Well, you dragged me into the back of van, not Joe or Pete. And you've blown me both times. Is that random?" he said, around a mouthful of raisins and oats.

Patrick crumpled his coffee cup. "It's what I want," he said. "I've never been obsessed with blowing someone before, but now all I want to do is get on my knees in front of you."

"How much do you want to do that?" Andy asked.

"Fuck you," Patrick said. "Are you trying to fucking make me beg or something? Because I will, if that's what it takes."

"I wasn't actually," Andy said, and they both stopped walking and waited while some loser in a SUV reversed out of a space and into a shopping cart. "I was trying to work out what was going on."

"You think something's going on?" Patrick asked, over the sound of the driver swearing and climbing out of the SUV to move the cart.

"Don't you?"

Patrick and Andy stood in the parking lot, staring at each other through Patrick's sunglasses, then Patrick said, "Shiiit."

"How's the bruise?" Andy asked.

When Patrick pulled the multiple layers of clothes he was wearing away from his skin and tilted his head, Andy could see a dark bruise disappearing down, under his clothes, with scabs over where the guy's teeth had broken the skin.

"Tick the boxes," Andy said. "You get bitten. You get a simultaneously awesome and unsettling fixation on giving me head. You get sunburned in March. You have some creepy-ass thing going on with pushing people around, which is possibly not new and it's just a coincidence that you're exploring it right now."

"I'm really fucking cold," Patrick added. "The only time I'm not is after I've blown you."

"And you've stopped coming, at least in the usual way."

Patrick looked at the coffee cup in his hand. "Do you think it's possible to live on coffee and come?"

"Not without some kind of nutritional deficiency," Andy said. "And if you're looking for me to be your protein source, I'm going to have to buy some soy protein powder."

They walked in silence back to where Joe and Pete were waiting, beside the van.

"You're both supposed to be cheerful, with all the sex you're having," Pete said, tossing the van keys in the air and failing to catch them.

"If those keys go down a drain again, you're getting them out," Joe said.

Andy scooped up the keys from beside his feet and held them out to Pete.

"You two should be the happiest fuckers around," Pete insisted, unlocking the van.

"I think I'm a vampire," Patrick said, sliding the van door open and climbing into the back of the van.

Joe leaned into the back of the van and looked at Patrick, then turned to frown at Andy.

"No, that's wrong," Joe said. "We all agreed that Pete is the emotional vampire, remember?"

Andy climbed into the van and sat beside Patrick.

"No, a real vampire. Just a very, um, confused one," Andy said.

Pete hung over the back of the driver's seat, and asked, "Really?"

Patrick pulled his layers of clothes aside to show Pete and Joe the bite on his neck.

Joe leaned through the gap between the front seats and said, "Awesome! So, does that mean you haven't been having sex in the back of the van, and you've actually been sucking Hurley's blood? I think I'm more comfortable with that, actually."

Pete's eyes were wide and he was grinning.

"I think Andy means that Patrick is a little confused about exactly how he's supposed to be a vampire," Pete said.

Patrick dragged the neck of his hoodie back up again.

"I'm not that confused," Patrick said. "I just don't think I could tear open the artery or vein of someone I actually know. It's a bit like the difference between buying meat in homogenized plastic packets and carving a chunk off the family dog."

Andy edged away from Patrick on the bench seat.

"Thank you for your restraint," Andy said. "Would it help if I barked occasionally?"

"I used to be innocent, and not have to listen to people talking about barking while having sex," Joe said. "I'd like to return to those days."

"Can you bite me?" Pete asked. "I've always wanted to be a vampire."

"One, you already are a vampire, you just suck people's feelings out of them, not their blood," Joe said. "Two, no, because you'd want to suck me, and yuck. Three, what if it made you invisible to mirrors and cameras? How would you do your hair and eyeliner and be an ass on people's phones?"

All of them turned to stare at Patrick, and Pete pulled his phone out and took a photo of Patrick glowering in the back of the van.

"No, not invisible to cameras," Pete said, looking at the screen of his phone. "That's a huge fucking relief. I have no idea how we'd explain a fucking lead singer who couldn't be photographed."

"I'm fucking sunburned, I want another coffee, and I'm freezing cold," Patrick said, his voice slicing through the air in the van. "Start driving, and I'd suggest you were careful about looking in the rear vision mirror for the duration of the journey."

Joe and Pete slid back into their seats without comment, and Pete started the van.

Andy nodded approvingly at Patrick.

"Nice," Andy said. "I like it when you do that to people other than me."

Patrick stared at Andy, through spectacles and sunglasses, and Andy regretted saying anything.

*

At the motel reception, the clerk watched Pete and Andy count out the bills.

"We can't afford two rooms," Andy said.

"Joe and I aren't sharing with you two," Pete said. "Joe says he doesn't trust Patrick, and I have enough issues sleeping as it is, without wondering what the strange noises mean you're doing."

The clerk sighed. "That's our rates, guys. I can't give you a discount."

Patrick pushed the door open and walked over to the desk, leaning against Andy.

"Not enough money," Andy told Patrick.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Patrick muttered. He pulled his sunglasses off and looked at the clerk. "Give us two rooms, or we're going to go all rock star on your furniture."

The clerk looked at Patrick: trucker hat jammed on his head, borrowed merch hoodie layered over an improbable number of sweaters and T-shirts, and bright red sunburn.

And Patrick looked right back through the clerk.

"Two rooms, I can do that," the clerk said. "Adjacent?"

"Definitely not," Pete said. "There is no way we want to hear anything involving barking or yelping."

They walked across the parking lot a couple of minutes later, in possession of two room keys, and Pete said, "We are so putting Patrick in charge of all contract and venue negotiations from now on."

"Do you want to do that?" Andy asked, reaching into the van for his duffel. "Can you imagine what the venue rider would read like?"

Patrick kicked him in the shin, and Andy went down, sprawled across the parking lot, gravel scraping at his face and hands.

"Shit!" Pete shouted, and Andy rolled onto his back and looked up at the gray clouds in the afternoon sky.

Joe's face appeared over Andy.

"Hey," Joe said. "Want a hand up?"

Andy shook his head and stood up, wiping his grazed and bleeding hands on his T-shirt.

Pete handed Andy his duffel, and Andy rubbed at his leg, where Patrick had kicked him. He could feel the lump swelling, even through his jeans.

"What are you going to do?" Pete asked in a low voice, looking across the motel parking lot, to where Patrick had stalked across to sit on a wall, beside a long haul truck.

"Talk to him."

Andy dropped his duffel again and limped over to the wall, where Patrick was avoiding looking at him.

Andy sat on the wall beside Patrick, and Patrick said, "You shouldn't have come over, not now."

Andy looked down at his hands, where points of blood were still seeping out of the grazes, then at the smears of rust color on his T-shirt.

"Because of this?" Andy asked, holding his hand out to Patrick, palm upward.

Patrick nodded.

"Go on," Andy said. "While I now know you can kick me right across the parking lot, I don't believe you'd really hurt me."

Patrick took hold of Andy's hand and leaned forward. His tongue was dry and a little rough, licking over Andy's palm, and he made tiny noises in his throat, the kind of sounds that made Andy think about fucking him, slow and deep and hard.

When Patrick paused, licking his bottom lip, Andy held his other hand out, for Patrick to lick too.

"Was that good?" Andy asked, when Patrick let his hand drop.

Patrick nodded. "Yeah. I'd show you, but they're watching us."

Andy looked across, to where Joe and Pete were glaring at them, from beside the van, then back at Patrick.

"How are you, inside?" Andy asked. "Freaking out?"

Patrick shrugged. "I'm cold, I'm desperate for coffee, I'm sunburned, and I have to blow you. It's just another day, only someone cranked the volume right up."

"Okay," Andy said. "Didn't know that."

"Sorry that I kicked you. I had no idea it was going to work like that," Patrick said.

"Next time, I'm blocking and then I'm taking you down, but, hey, at least you'll be able to win all your fights with Pete now."

"And I'm not, you know, actually undead or anything. I've been checking, just in case, but I still have a heartbeat, and I need to breathe. Whatever this is, it's not fatal."

"Just inconvenient?"

Patrick's smile was speculative. "It shouldn't be too bad… You look like you're in good shape, physically. You should be able to cope."

"You're being creepy again," Andy said.

"I'm always creepy," Patrick said. "You just haven't been with the band long enough to have noticed."

"Does that mean you're going to be really creepy in the motel room?" Andy asked.

Patrick touched Andy's neck, pressing his thumb under Andy's jaw, where the flesh was soft.

"Probably."

At the van, Pete glared at Andy and Patrick, and said, "Reallocating the rooms? No? Neither of you get to pass comment on my relationship dramas ever again then."

"Fuck off," Patrick said, grabbing his duffel out of the van. "I might have issues with draining Andy's body of life-giving plasma, but the more annoying you are, the more you look like a conveniently snack-sized bag of blood to me."

Pete's eyes went round, and he locked the van door after Andy had taken his duffel out.

"Do you think he would?" Pete asked Andy, as they followed Patrick across the parking lot to the motel.

Andy glanced at Pete. "We seem to have two options here. It's your blood, or I'm envisaging a band future where there are little cups lined up for Patrick in the bathroom every morning."

"That could work," Pete said. "Or perhaps we could ask the fans to— "

"I _can_ hear you," Patrick said, over his shoulder. "And I can think of a couple of problems with your plans. For the first one, I'd have to agree to it, and for the second, we don't have any fans, not the kind who would do that for us. It's all we can do to get people to pay to get into shows."

Pete banged on his motel room door, for Joe to let him in. "It's easier to get jizz out of fans than money, at least in my experience."

Joe, who had opened the door and caught most of Pete's opinion of fans, sighed. "I don't want to be in this band anymore," he said plaintively. "It's got Pete and a vampire in it. Andy? Can we run away together?"

"One day, Joe," Andy said.

Patrick dragged on Andy's arm. "C'mon. We've got time, before we have to be at the venue."

*

The bruise on Patrick's neck had spread further down his neck and started to edge across his shoulder, when he wandered out of the motel bathroom naked, dripping shower water.

Andy didn't comment on the bruise, and waved his cell phone at Patrick, from where he was sitting in bed.

"Joe says that you have to load our gear in and out by yourself in the future, because that was the fastest exit we've ever made from a venue." He peered at the screen. "Okay, I think that's what he's saying. You know what his texts are like since the PQRS button broke on his phone, Predictive texting sometimes takes him to odd places."

"It's all very well saying that," Patrick said, sitting on the bed and dripping on the comforter, "but if I can't get my arms around the six speaker stacks, I can't lift them. Besides, don't you think someone will notice if the short guy starts carrying all of the gear while the three of you stand around and gossip?"

"I don't gossip," Andy said indignantly. "And I don't think you're short. You look fine to me."

"Okay, if two of you stand there and gossip, and one of you engages in earnest political discussion, while the average height person hefts around a fucking huge amp and speaker combo that two days ago would have made him pop a hernia."

Andy nodded. "That's better."

Patrick stood up and kicked his duffel aside, then checked the motel room door was locked and turned off the main light.

In the remaining light from the reading lamp, Andy took his glasses off and tossed them beside his phone on the nightstand, then kicked the bedding down as Patrick clambered onto the bed.

"Hey," Andy said, curling fingers loosely around his own cock and giving himself a preparatory squeeze, and holding his other arm out for Patrick.

Patrick took his glasses off and sat blinking on the bed, looking confused.

"Um," Patrick said. "I'm not sure you're going to believe this, because I don't think I really do, but I'm not actually hungry at the moment. So, you know, if you want to sleep or whatever…"

Patrick's hair was sticking up in clumps, and he looked pale and fragile in the low light, not at all like he could kick Andy across a parking lot.

"Have you been taking advice from Pete again?" Andy asked. "Because that's worse than taking advice from Joe."

"No?" Patrick said. "Well, not much. Pete's advice is always problematic, but I did think his suggestion that I not actually kill you from over-exertion was something I should take onboard."

Andy crossed his arms on his chest and raised an eyebrow at Patrick.

"Not that I'm impugning your stamina," Patrick added, and Andy uncrossed his arms.

Patrick flopped onto the mattress beside Andy, dug himself under the blankets, and poked a finger into his own mouth, rubbing at his teeth.

"Aren't I supposed to have pointy canines and be able to fly?" Patrick asked, after he'd checked his teeth.

"Have you even tried flying?" Andy asked.

"I wouldn't know where to start. Why aren't I suddenly irresistibly glamorous?"

"I suspect vampirism is glamorous the same way the music industry is—from the outside," Andy said. "From the inside, they seem to be about the same things."

Patrick rolled onto his side to look up at Andy. "What things?"

"Being hungry, layering hoodies, coffee and blow jobs."

"And there I was, thinking the industry was about music," Patrick said, and as Andy flicked the reading light off, he could see Patrick grinning.

In the half-light of the motel room, Patrick jammed against him to steal body heat, Andy smiled too.

He could get used to this.

And when Patrick woke him at first light, mouth already on his dick, it looked even more like something he could get used to.

*

Andy slouched into a couch, in the basement at Crush, and checked the time on his phone. Once Bob got talking, entire geological epochs could pass without him pausing for breath.

Joe turned the issue of Rolling Stone he was reading sideways, then upside down, and frowned at it, but Andy couldn't find the curiosity to ask Joe what he was doing.

Beside Andy, on the couch, Pete fidgeted restlessly and shook his cell phone, possibly in the hope of making someone text him back more quickly.

"Any idea what Bob want to talk to Patrick about?" Pete asked Andy.

Andy shrugged. "How would I know?"

"Because you're sharing body fluids with him," Joe said. "So, possibly, you talk to him too. Or not. Does anyone have a Sharpie?"

Pete dug through his hoodie pockets, then tossed an eyeliner at the back of the magazine in Joe's hands.

The door to the office flew open, crashing against the wall, and Patrick stomped out, radiating the kind of nasty temper that Andy had only previously seen triggered by stupid venue managers and fucked-up sound boards.

"Uh-oh," Pete said, under his breath, and he and Andy both stood up as Bob followed Patrick out of the office.

"So," Patrick said, to Andy and Pete. "This was an intervention. Because, apparently, crashing on Bob's living room floor means that he gets to criticize my personal habits, then fucking well try and label them as abnormal."

Joe looked over his magazine briefly, and said, "Dude? Not cool."

"I'm just worried, Patrick," Bob said. "You've been here for three days, and I've not seen you eat a thing, and all you drink is coffee…"

"I think we should say something," Patrick said, rubbing at the peeling sunburn on the back of his hand.

"You're going to tell him?" Pete asked.

"Can you think of another option?" Patrick said. "Guys?"

"Tell me what?" Bob asked. "Because the checklist isn't very long, and it's only got substance issues and eating disorders on it. All you've got to do is talk to me a little, and we can move forward."

"I'm reading this article on the 'Twenty Ways That Rock and Roll Devours its Stars'," Joe said.

"Upside down?" Bob asked.

"Yeah, it makes it more of a challenge. And vampirism isn't on the list," Joe said. "Just a FYI. I've marked everything off the list with a sharpie—um, eyeliner—just to make sure, and it's not there. Pete is, though."

Bob's gaze flicked from Joe, who went back to reading Rolling Stone, to Patrick, and back again.

"So," Patrick said. "As Joe mentioned, I'm a vampire."

Bob frowned. "No, we've had this talk before. Pete's the emotional vampire."

"Why do people keep saying that?" Pete demanded. "I can have healthy relationships, I just choose not to."

Andy flicked Pete's ear, and Pete slapped him.

"No, the other kind of vampire. You know, with disgusting personal habits and odd biochemistry," Andy said.

"Wait, what?" Bob said. "Like, capes and blood and coffins? Have you been socializing with that New Jersey band? I thought we had an agreement about keeping Pete away from the Ways."

"Why is it always me?" Pete grumped.

"It isn't, this time," Joe pointed out, looking over the edge of the magazine, where Avril Lavigne's knees ended on the cover. "It was Patrick who got bitten by some skanky scene boy, which just goes to show there's no justice in the world."

"Patrick got bitten by a vampire scene boy, and now he drinks blood?" Bob asked. "Someone who doesn't smoke skunk needs to tell me this."

"Would it help if I confirmed it?" Andy asked, sitting down again. "Because it's essentially true."

Bob turned to stare at Patrick, who was wearing a glittery David Bowie T-shirt with purple jeans and his favorite plaid trucker hat that day, and looked nothing like a vampire really should.

"Essentially?" Bob asked.

"Okay, so all that happens in sunshine is that I get sunburned," Patrick said. "And I don't feel the least urge to dress in black, but apart from that, I seem to be rocking the vampire mythology hard."

Bob sat down so hard on a rickety rattan chair that the chair threatened to fail.

"Patrick, please don't drink blood in my living room," Bob said weakly.

Patrick scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the cracked tiles, and Joe made harrumphing noises behind the magazine.

"Oh, fuck," Bob said. "Can you still sing?"

Patrick gave Bob his _look_, the one that made small children run screaming and everyone else hand over their wallets.

"Tell me, Bob," Patrick said, his voice slicing through the stuffy air of the basement. "How's your hemoglobin levels these days?"

"Don't eat the manager," Andy said, hoping he sounded bored rather than amused. "No eating the manager."

"If you're hungry, we can take you out, buy you a snack," Pete added, propping himself on the arm of Joe's chair.

"That's gross," Joe said. "I don't want to think about Patrick doing that."

Andy said, "Oh, do sit down, Patrick. If you scare Bob so much he stops being our manager, we'll be really fucked."

Patrick nodded and cracked his knuckles, then strolled over to flop down on the couch next to Andy.

"Sorry, Bob," he said. "Didn't mean to go all feral on you. Haven't fed for a few hours, and it makes me kind of aggressive."

"Hours?" Bob said, voice shrill. "You have to feed every few hours?"

"Small amounts often," Pete said. "Like, um, a gerbil or something."

Joe groaned. "Bad, Pete, bad."

"You eat gerbil blood?" Bob asked, burying his head in his hands. "Please make this stop."

"No, I'm kind of into just Andy at the moment," Patrick said in his low, rumbling voice, the one he used to get Andy into bed, or the back of the van, or a bathroom, or wherever.

Patrick's fingers slid around the back of Andy's neck, under his hair, nails scraping at his skin, and everyone else stared at Patrick.

"Wow," Pete said. "Can you do that again?"

Patrick's fingers wound in the hair at the nape of Andy's neck and tugged, and Andy had to swallow suddenly.

"Do what?" Patrick asked in his low voice.

Patrick's hand yanked, jerking Andy's head back against the edge of the couch, and Andy closed his eyes.

"See?" Joe said in a plaintive voice, as Patrick scraped the nails of his other hand down Andy's neck. "This is what we've been putting up with. Only with much more nudity."

Patrick let go of Andy's hair, and Andy could breathe again.

"Hey, Bob," Patrick said, in his normal voice. "Can we borrow your office for a bit?"

Joe groaned, and Pete said, "You really want to say 'No.'"

"No?" Bob said, sounding stunned.

Patrick grabbed Andy's hand and dragged him upright. "Never mind, we'll find somewhere else."

"Was telling Bob a good idea?" Andy asked, as Patrick hauled him through the maze of corridors connecting the Crush basement to the recording studio, access stairs and the offices.

"I'm not planning on pretending to be anorexic, or a smackhead, for the next ten years," Patrick said, kicking open the door to a storeroom full of crates of paperwork, merch and a dismembered drum kit.

"Hey, nice snare," Andy said, then Patrick closed the door of the storeroom, plunging it into darkness.

"So," Patrick said, pushing Andy back against the door. "You stand there and think about the snare, okay? And I'll just do this…"

"Fuuuck," Andy said, because Patrick had knelt down in front of him, and was unzipping his jeans.

"We need to talk about that," Patrick said, fingers around Andy's cock. "I've got an idea…"

"Is it a good idea?" Andy asked. "Because I could think about that instead of the snare."

"It's a fucking awesome idea," Patrick said.

"I could think about the snare, and fucking, at the same time," Andy said, pretty sure he was babbling, but Patrick's mouth was messing with his ability to string words together.

Patrick laughed, around Andy's cock, and Andy thudded his head back against the door. He should open his eyes, look for the flashing red light of a security camera at least, but between the wet slide of Patrick's lips and the thought of fucking Patrick or—fuck, yeah—what it would feel like for Patrick to fuck him, it was difficult to even keep standing up.

The room smelled of dust, and the small noises Patrick made echoed off the low ceiling. Andy reached down, to where Patrick's fingers where pushing indentations along his hipbone.

"Hey?" Andy said, because the heat was starting to build, and he wouldn't be able to say much soon. "Gonna give you something more this time…"

Patrick shifted, changing angles, and it was so fucking sudden and good and sweet, so that Patrick had to hold Andy up, against the door, when his knees stopped working.

The noises Patrick made, when they weren't being stealthily quiet, were frankly disturbing, an undeniable reminder that something deeply odd was going on, involving the sucking of body fluids, and Andy tried not to listen to the slurping.

Instead he reached down and dragged his fingernails across the skin of his belly, down low, pressing in as hard as he could bring himself to, so that the sharp stripes of pain made him gasp.

Andy waited, the bands of stinging making his eyes smart, and a moment later, he felt something trickle down, across the top of his thigh.

"You can't…" Patrick said. "That's…"

Patrick pushed himself away from Andy, across the dark room, in what sounded like a clatter of hi hat and shattering snare.

"I can, and I did," Andy said. "You took it before, when my hands were grazed. Why not now?"

A crash cymbal went down, and a floor tom cracked.

"I'd only just started then," Patrick said, from the other side of the storeroom. "I didn't know then what this was going to feel like."

"I'm alone in a basement storeroom, in the pitch black, with you, with blood running down my leg. I think now might a good time to tell me how this feels, don't you?" Andy said.

Patrick let out a breath, and Andy could tell he was smiling. "Fuck, Andy, you're supposed to run away. Don't you know how horror movies go? This is the scene that ends with your blood seeping out from under the storeroom door."

"I am not walking out there with my boxers and jeans around my knees and blood all over me," Andy said. "I'll take the death-and-dignity option instead, if that's okay with you. Besides I don't think we're in a horror move, do you?"

"What other sort of movies have vampires in them," Patrick asked, his voice much closer in the darkness.

"The presence of Joe would be an argument in favor of a rom-com," Andy said. "In fact, having him as the comic relief is the only way to rationalize him at all. But I actually think we're starring in the preliminary shoot for the most fucked-up _Behind the Music_ episode ever."

Patrick was right beside Andy, brushing against Andy's arm, and he said, "Do you think they'll release the X-rated cut?"

"Fuck, I hope so," Andy said.

"Don't move," Patrick said, and Andy felt the whisper of air as Patrick dropped to his knees. Then the flat of Patrick's tongue dragged across the top of Andy's thigh, where the blood was drying stickily, and Patrick moaned.

Patrick was quick, standing up against seconds later, hands either side of Andy's head, face against Andy's neck smelling of blood, and his voice unsteady as he said, "Oh, fuck, can you…?"

The fly of Patrick's jeans, pulled tight over Patrick's cock, scraped against the raw skin of Andy's hip, and it was a relief to get his hands in there, undo the zip, and push the material aside.

"So fucking close," Patrick said, pushing himself up onto his toes, trying to get more of his cock into Andy's hands, so Andy gripped tight and let Patrick jerk himself off and wear himself out.

Patrick shuddered and gasped and moaned, then slumped against Andy.

"Most. Fucked-up. Episode. Ever," Andy said, holding Patrick upright.

When they walked back into the Crush basement, two minutes later, Bob was nursing a very large glass of tequila, Joe had moved on to a different issue of Rolling Stone, and Pete was still texting.

Bob looked up, and went paler, and Pete made dabbing-at-his mouth motions at Patrick.

"Dude," Joe said. "You got some on your face. That's gross."

Andy sank into an easy chair and glanced at Patrick, who did indeed have blood drying on his chin.

"There," Andy said, pointing at his own chin, and Pete nodded.

"At least its blood," Pete added, as Patrick rubbed at his chin and Joe made retching noises.

Bob drained his glass and set it down on the coffee table, among the magazines and ashtrays.

"If this is a joke," Bob said, "now is the time for the punch line. You know, ketchup and laughter and 'wasn't it funny the time we pretended to Bob that Patrick was a vampire with anorexia'?"

Patrick looked around the basement, and ambled over the metal four-drawer filing cabinet Bob kept his vinyl albums in, then lifted the monstrous thing up and moved it a foot along the wall, sending mice scurrying across the ancient tiles.

"More tequila," Bob said, reaching for the bottle on the floor beside his chair. "Then we need to talk."

*

Patrick shoved the last crate of power boards and leads into the trailer, and bolted and padlocked the doors, then shook the rain from his hair.

"We're going back to the motel," Patrick said. "You might not want to interrupt us for the next hour."

"But we've only got one room," Joe said. "That's not fair. You can't do that."

Patrick put a hand solidly on Joe's neck. "I've just played a 45 minute set, after driving for six hours through pouring rain. I have needs, Joe. Don't stand between me and my needs."

Pete shrugged, under the relative protection of the awning over the rear door of the venue they'd just played.

"I got needs, too, and they are not going to get met by hanging out in a motel room with you three," Pete said. "Don't fight it Joe, or you'll wind up joining their little cult."

Andy, who was also avoiding the rain under the awning, said, "Cult? How are the plans for the clothing line going? And didn't I hear you talking to Bob about nightclubs, and branding? And a record label? All based on your rather, um, hectic public persona?"

"Fuck off," Pete said cheerfully. "Just because you haven't copyrighted one of your tattoos to use for personal branding purposes."

"So you think," Andy said, as Patrick slung a soaking wet arm around his neck.

All three of them looked down at Andy's crotch, and Pete nodded.

"Niiice," Pete said.

Joe, who had been clambering around the back of the van, climbed out again and joined them under the awning.

"Give me twenty dollars to leave you alone," Joe said. "Because I'm broke."

"Leave us alone, or you're going to have the best wet dream ever," Patrick said, leering at Joe.

Andy rummaged through his pockets, and pulled out a handful of quarters. "Looks like there's a couple of dollars there. Go away, Joe, for everyone's well-being."

Pete put his arm around Joe's waist. "C'mon, I'll show you how to get older men to buy you drinks."

"That's not an improvement!" Joe squeaked.

"That's homosexual panic," Pete said. "I think we should talk about your repressed gay feelings…"

"I almost feel bad, leaving Joe in Pete's care," Patrick said, climbing into the front passenger seat of the van as Andy coaxed the motor to life. "But that will wear off in a few minutes."

Andy didn't so much park the van and trailer in the motel parking lot as abandon them, straddling at least four bays. People would complain, no doubt, but that was in the future. He was more interested in the present, and Patrick, who had bounded out of the van before Andy had killed the ignition, room key in his hand.

"Don't get towed," Andy told the van as he locked the doors. "Just don't get towed."

The motel room was still in darkness when Andy pushed the door open, then the door clicked shut behind him, and the privacy bolt thudded into place.

"Hey, not fair," Andy said, pulling his T-shirt over his head. "I can't see."

Patrick picked Andy up and dropped him on the bed, arms still tangled in his T-shirt, then pulled his T-shirt off with a rending sound.

The bed rocked under Patrick's weight, dipping as he leaned across Andy.

"Are we good?" Patrick asked, in his normal voice.

"Yeah," Andy said. "We're good."

"Just checking," Patrick said in his fuck-with-Andy's-head voice, and his tongue dragged down Andy's sternum and his hands pushed at Andy's shorts.

"Fuck," Andy said, and Patrick laughed with his mouth pressed against Andy's hip.

"In that case, you'd better pass me the lube," Patrick said.

Andy groped around the clutter on the nightstand, knocking over things he couldn't identify by the noise they made hitting the carpet, until he found a tube of something that was cold to the touch.

"Here," Andy said, holding the tube out, and Patrick took it off him.

Patrick was rougher than he had been before, not waiting for Andy to relax, something like desperation in the feel of his mouth, and Andy could almost feel his hunger, scratching and scraping between them.

And it was fucking hot, making Andy grab at the standard issue motel bed head, grateful they were alone and he didn't need to be quiet.

Far too soon, Patrick dragged his mouth off Andy's cock, and slid across Andy, smearing lube across Andy's belly.

Andy licked and mouthed the bits of Patrick that were within reach, making Patrick swat at him, then Patrick rolled partway off the bed, out of reach.

"Got them," Patrick said, pulling himself back onto the bed. "I'm blaming you for everything being on the floor."

Plastic tore, in the darkness, and Andy could just make out the shape of Patrick kneeling up, over him.

"Roll over," Patrick said, slapping at Andy's thigh.

"What if I don't want to?" Andy asked. "You going to make me?"

Patrick chuckled dirtily. "I just think it's safer if you keep all your major arteries and veins away from me at this moment."

"Ah," Andy said, flipping himself over. "Remember, I'm the family pet, and you're not allowed to eat me."

Patrick's fingers were wet with lube, sliding and rocking into Andy, then his weight pressed Andy further into the mattress.

"Think you might be more than a pet now," Patrick said, his mouth against Andy's shoulder, then his fingers moved, and the head of his cock pushed against Andy.

Patrick shifted Andy, rolling them both onto their sides, and his hand closed over Andy's cock.

"Think you can wait for me?" Patrick asked, pushing in slowly, until he was hard and deep.

Andy nodded, because saying anything coherent wasn't an option, not when Patrick started rocking into him.

He could feel Patrick nipping at the skin on his back, teeth sliding through spit between moans, and Andy twisted his back, shifting Patrick's mouth off his flesh.

Patrick gasped, and Andy could feel Patrick's forehead sliding through the sweat on his back as Patrick fucked into him harder, making everything inside Andy hum and buzz.

Andy grabbed onto the nightstand to stop his face from smacking into it, because Patrick had lost it and was thrashing around behind him, making a lot of noise.

Patrick went still, breath rasping against Andy's back, and Andy said, "Patrick? I need to…"

The hand on his cock slid up, curling around the head, and Andy added his own hands, heartbeat thudding in his ears, everything narrowed down to what he was feeling.

A couple of quick strokes, and his body let go, falling into coming.

Patrick rolled Andy over and leant over, licking at his own hand and Andy's cock, then across Andy's belly.

"I think that's stopped being weird," Andy said. "And is now normal."

Patrick fell onto the mattress beside Andy, and Andy could tell he was still sucking his fingers clean.

"Good," Patrick said, rolling into Andy. "Sorry about the back thing."

Andy smiled in the dark. "At least it wasn't my neck."

"I could wear a mouth guard," Patrick suggested. "It will be the closest I've ever been to organized sporting activities."

Andy started to laugh, because it made as much sense as everything else.

"Deal," he said. "You get to wear a plastic mouth guard whenever you think you might get distracted and chomp on me."

The lock on the door clicked, and the door opened as far as the security bolt would let it.

"Stop doing that," Joe said. "And open the door for me."

"We're naked," Patrick said, crawling off the bottom of the bed. "Do you want us to get dressed first?"

"Don't care," Joe said. "Just let me in, because I think someone followed me back here from the venue."

The security bolt clicked off, and the overhead light came on, far too bright after the darkness.

"Please stop being naked," Joe said, slamming the door shut and keeping his back turned to the room. "Or turn the light off again. Also, you might not know this, but the room stinks of sex."

Andy shrugged at Patrick and slid off the bed.

"I'm showering," Andy said. "After which I will wear a towel. You can negotiate Patrick's nudity directly with him."

Patrick had found his jeans on the floor, and was partway through pulling them on.

Andy opened the bathroom door at the same time as Patrick said, "Safe to turn around now," to Joe.

"That's not safe!" Joe said. "That's Hurley's ass! No, don't look at me, Andy! Close the door!"

Andy showered quickly, then wandered out into the room, wearing only a towel, to find his toothbrush.

Joe was sitting in the only easy chair, TV remote in his hands, flicking through channels, and he looked up at Andy when Patrick closed the bathroom door.

The sound of the shower started, and Joe said, "Um."

"Rock and a hard place?" Andy asked, finding underwear in his duffel that looked like it hadn't been worn before, and pulling it on under his towel.

"Creepy old guys following me, and you two?" Joe asked. "Yeah. I don't know if I should mention this or not, but that is one ugly bruise you've got on your back."

Andy crooked his elbow and stretched one hand up his back, to where he could feel Patrick's hickey.

"Okay," Andy said.

"I can't believe I'm asking this," Joe said. "But, you are being safe with him, aren't you? And I don't mean that in the usual way, because I watched Patrick pick something up off the floor that I'm pretending I didn't identify."

Andy tossed his towel over the desk, and pulled on a cleanish T-shirt.

"Yeah, we're being careful," Andy said, sitting on the end of the bed. "The skin's not broken, so you don't need to worry."

"Good," Joe said. "Please don't turn into a vampire. This band is weird enough already."

"I agree," Andy said. "I promise I'll make sure things don't get any stranger."

*

Epilogue

Alan, the director, pointed to the storyboard he'd propped on a chair in Bob's slick new office.

"Basic concept is that we're going to riff on every teen vampire movie trope. You know, The Lost Boys, the Blade movies, and so on. You'll all be playing vampire hunters."

Patrick let out a long breath, and Bob said, from behind Andy where he was leaning against a wall, "That sounds really visually dynamic, but I'm not sure I'm keen on it for consistent branding reasons."

"You want the deer-boy back?" Alan asked. "The brief specified no deer-boy this time, and something very edgy and narrative driven."

"Hang on," Pete said, leaning forward to read the storyboard. "It says one of us is a vampire. Who gets to be the vampire?"

"I'd planned on casting you as the vampire, Pete. So, you'd be teamed up with the good guys, killing your own kind, striking blows for the forces of good. I thought we could cast other recognizable faces as the bad guy-vampires."

Patrick grumped, beside Andy, but didn't say anything. Patrick's rant about why vampires were always presented as evil was frankly boring, in Andy's opinion. But, people said the same thing about Andy's anti-capitalism opinions, so he and Patrick just divided up the ranting time evenly, and put up with each other.

"Awesome," Pete said. "I've always wanted to be a vampire, the really glamorous type, with long teeth and great dress sense."

"Well. You've got the teeth already," Joe said, from the end of the couch. "When are you going to start dressing well?"

Joe shouted, when Pete hit him, and Bob said, "Alan? Would you like to grab a coffee from the café across the road? The barista there is a friend, and makes a great latte."

Bob shifted the storyboard and sat on the chair, in front of the four of them.

"You don't have to do this, Patrick," Bob said. "I can fire this guy, and get a new director and a new concept worked-up, in time to get the video out. Just say the word."

"If gossip gets out we fired him?" Patrick asked. "Won't people wonder?"

"What they'll wonder is exactly how much of a diva is Pete. No one's going to waste time speculating that Patrick is actually one of the creatures of the night," Bob said.

"He's more a creature of the mid-afternoon," Joe pointed out.

Andy hit Joe that time.

"Stop picking on me," Joe complained. "I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking."

"No, you're not," Bob said. "I promise you, you're not."

"Let's make the video," Patrick said. "The only people that will wonder about the sub-text are other vampires, and realistically, how likely is it that vampires will start a blog war with us?"

Andy nodded, Pete cheered, and Joe slapped a kiss on Pete's cheek.

"Can we really be vampire hunters?" Joe asked, when Bob had left the office to go and find Alan, the director. "You know, use Patrick's super powers and hunt down the other vamps in our spare time?"

"We'd have to have a vampire-attractor, since they're not considerate enough to have a separate dress code or anything," Pete said. "I can't decide between opening a coffee importing business, or building a giant dildo. Maybe we could combine the two? A dildo that shoots coffee?"

"And I've got objections to killing, unless it's to protect our own," Andy said. "And, as far as I can tell, apart from a skanky scene boy who needs a harsh lesson in boundaries and consent issues, vampires are awesome people who give great head. The world needs more of that, not less."

Pete and Joe groaned, and Patrick blushed.

"Why do you always go to those places?" Pete asked. "Why?"

"Cock. Photos," Patrick said. "Two words, for the rest of your life. Now back the fuck off. There will be no vampire hunting, we don't have any spare time. We're about to tour an album, then record another one."

Pete subsided into silence, and Joe kept glaring at Andy, until Alan and Bob came back, bearing a tray of coffees each.

Bob placed an entire tray of coffees strategically in front of Patrick, because it was just better for everyone that way, and Andy took the bottle of water Bob handed him. If Alan noticed Patrick drinking four coffees in a row, he would probably assume it was masking something worse than a raging caffeine addiction.

Patrick's fingers worked their way behind Andy on the couch, to find bare skin between T-shirt and shorts. Yes, much better to just give Patrick four coffees and not argue with him.

"I've been thinking," Alan said. "While I was getting coffee. And having met the four of you in person, I think Andy should be in the opening sequence, and be the bait."

"Definitely," Joe said. "He looks very tasty to me. I bet a vampire would really go for him."

Pete put his arm around Joe's shoulders. "Joe's been working on confronting his repressed homosexual feelings. I think he might be finally there."

 

End

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [If That's the Worst You've Got (In 4/4 Time)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/125692) by [athenejen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenejen/pseuds/athenejen)




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